


Talking With Ghosts

by lily_lovely



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Dark, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_lovely/pseuds/lily_lovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Dollhouse, who's really the ghost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking With Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after the first episode, before we were presented with rather different characterizations of Claire and Adelle, and a different explanation of how Claire got her scars.

Claire sits in her apartment, alone, pondering her own face.

It's dark; she hasn't bothered to turn on the lights. Enough light streams in through her window from the rest of the Dollhouse that she doesn't really need to.

She holds up the mirror, and can make out the scars running all along it. They're jagged, harsh; she distractedly thinks that they remind her of hills on a topographical map.

But then her eyes glaze over, and they remind her of something else:

_The director is screaming at her, and she's frantically looking around her office for a weapon. You'd think a doctor's office, especially one like hers, would be filled with them; but she's thrown most of her equipment out of the way by tossing her tray behind her. _

_She can't get to them without getting past her._

_Adrenaline rushes through her, but instead of empowering her, it leaves her dizzy and panicked. She doesn't know what to do._

_All she can think, as she comes closer, wielding a wickedly shining scalpel, is that she's never acted like this before. Her boss is cold and fierce, to be sure, but she's never displayed such violent and aggressive tendencies before._

_It frightens her terribly, knowing that no one will come for her, in fear of encountering Ms. DeWitt's wrath. There's nothing that can be done for her._

_Then one of her hands is on her arm, restraining her, and the other holds the scalpel, pressing it into her cheek until she can see blood drip onto her shoes._

_Now they're stained beyond repair, and she thinks, as if from behind a fog, that they were her favorite pair. _

_Her eyes hold something beyond coldness, beyond fierceness, and she whimpers with fear._

A knock at the door startles her out of the memory. She's glad; she thinks about it too often. It causes phantom pain to run along her lined face in waves.

Claire walks to the door with trepidation. She's not sure who it can be; none of the other employees visit her, so it can only be Ms. DeWitt or a wandering Active, who got someone to tell them where her room is.

She desperately hopes it's the latter; that's easy enough to deal with.

Ms. DeWitt is not quite as...distractable. Or pleasant.

She opens it, and finds Echo standing there, with that oblivious, dazed look all the Actives wear.

Claire smiles, filled with relief. "Hello, Echo. What seems to be the problem?"

Echo clasps her hands behind her back, shifting from foot to foot in a restless manner. "I wanted to say hello to you. Because you're sad, and talking to people makes them less sad."

Claire's startled. She can feel a blush of happiness that someone wants to talk to her rise within her, but she forces it down.

This is just typical Doll babbling. She should ignore it.

It's not like the girl has anything real inside her anymore.

"I'm not sad, Echo." She almost leaves it at that, but Echo doesn't seem any less determined. She just stands there, expectant look on her face.

It can't hurt to just _talk_ to her. "But we can talk if you'd like. Please come in."

She turns around to show Echo inside, and suddenly wishes that her room were bigger, nicer. It's hardly squalid—no clothes on the floor, no half-eaten food, no trash—but there's nothing in it to indicate humanity, warmth, _feeling_.

It feels too empty when she has to show it to someone.

Echo walks right over to the bed, and sits on the edge with an aura of waiting. Claire wonders what she could be waiting for.

All of the other times when an Active has found her room have seen them drift in, start to say something, forget what it is, and then leave with a confused look on their face.

This is different.

"What's your name?" Echo asks suddenly. "Not your fake one. The real one."

She used to find the halted speech and simple phrases of the Actives amusing, like that of a small child who doesn't yet understand the world, but now it seems like Echo understands something she doesn't. Something deeper than words.

"Claire."

Echo stands up again, and puts her hands on Claire's arms. "Claire," she whispers slowly. "There is something else to help you when you're sad."

Suddenly she's being kissed.

She takes a moment to simply revel in it; having someone care about her—need her, even—for the first time since the attack.

But it's wrong. Echo's not a person anymore, she's just a ghost of one. Taking advantage of her good intentions would be like rape.

She pushes Echo away from her, gently. "Look, you mean well, but—but you can't do that. It's not what we do."

Echo frowns, reaching for Claire's hand. "Why not? It feels good."

Claire lets Echo's hand rest lightly on top of hers. And she considers it: why not?

Why shouldn't she give Echo what she wants? She's part of the thing that keeps her here, like this. Less than human.

She's evil. She's a killer; if not literally, then a killer of souls.

She's a terrible, terrible person, and it's time to do something about it. It's time to make it up to Echo.

_...why not?_

Claire turns her hand around under Echo's, until they're clasping each other. She lets herself fall into the bed in a flurry of touching and sighing and stroking, because it's what they both need.

Even if Echo will never remember it again.

***  
After they finish, after they've both stopped breathing so heavily and put their clothes on, Echo leaves, with a grin and a wave.

It makes sense; it would be too dangerous to let her stay, where someone could find her, and punish them both.

But it still hurts.

Claire should have expected this. She did, really; of course anything she tries to give Echo emotionally can't be reciprocated.

And that's all her fault.

She almost wishes she could be like her; even if Echo is nothing now, at least she doesn't know it. At least she doesn't have to feel anything, _be_ anything.

Feeling things is too painful for her, these days.

As Claire slides under the sheets, shivering at what she's done, she wonders which one of them is really the ghost.

***  
"Dr. Saunders." Ms. DeWitt looks over her coldly, then simply stands there, silently.

Claire's head is spinning. She knows this has to be about what she did with Echo; somehow, Ms. DeWitt found out.

There must be a security camera in her room somewhere, watching her. That shouldn't surprise her, but it does.

She's sick with fear, and she feels her scars more acutely than normal; her heart is pulsing erratically and wildly, like a deer being pursued by a wolf.

She _feels_ pursued.

"It has come to our attention that you have engaged in...inappropriate activities with one of the Actives." She looks down at her clipboard, flipping a piece of paper over. "Echo, I believe."

"It was just—"

Ms. DeWitt's standing over her with her fingers digging into her wrist before she can blink. "I don't care why you did it, and I don't care how you justify it to yourself. What I care about is making sure you never do it again. We have no idea what sexual activity in their wiped state could do to them. Now we have been forced to keep Echo under special surveillance, instead of out on engagements where she belongs."

She lets go of Claire's wrist, smoothing her skirt as if she hadn't just left painful gashes in her employee's skin. "You have endangered the Dollhouse with your rash actions, and you must be punished for this."

Claire lowers her head to stare at her feet. "How is what I've done any worse than what you do every day, Ms. DeWitt? The people's lives you take away from them, the things you permit to—"

A hand reaches out and slaps her cheek. She looks up in surprise, clutching her face, and sees that she's struck a nerve, from the shaken look on Ms. DeWitt's face.

So she has a conscience after all. It's just been buried, like those of everyone who works here.

"You have no right to say those things about me." Ms. DeWitt's mouth is in a sharp, angry line, and she forces Claire down with a hand on her shoulder. "You have to be punished," she whispers hoarsely.

A desk drawer opens, a hand reaches in, and a knife is pulled out.

It's not the same tool she used before, but it still makes Claire's breath hitch and her feet slide back a step.

She knows this is exactly the same as the last time. She's powerless, she can't do anything, she has nothing...

_Ms. DeWitt stands over her, rips her panties open, and stuffs four fingers up Claire's cunt, making her scream with pain at the unprepared-for entry._

_Ms. DeWitt slides the knife under her skin; she can't even feel it anymore, she's so used to attacks on her face._

_Ms. DeWitt screams incoherent threats and insults at her, but it doesn't seem like she's even directing them towards Claire consciously; it's almost like she's talking to herself._

At the memory of what Ms. DeWitt had done to her, Claire makes a decision: she's not going to be powerless again. Even if she ends up getting hurt again, she's going to fight it this time. She's done letting people take over her.

But before it can carve at her face, Ms. DeWitt looks back at her, lip quivering for a moment before she puts it back under her control.

"Do you really...find my actions deplorable, Claire?"

It's the first time she's heard..._Adelle_ use her first name. She hadn't thought she even knew it.

It feels like a change. Or an acknowledgment of something.

_"What's your real name? Not the fake one. The real one."_

Claire smiles a little. "No more than mine, Adelle."

She doesn't really believe that, but she knows it's what she needs to hear. And it's probably what will save her.

Adelle suddenly grasps her in an embrace, sobbing against her shoulder. Claire awkwardly pats her shoulder, unsure how to comfort her.

She thinks that they all have a chance of coming back to life now, and the thought gives her hope she's never really felt before.

Maybe feeling things is worth it, after all.


End file.
